The Jeep was flooded with the sound of Luke Combs’ Hurricane, a song she loved. “Just listen to this. It’s one of my favorites.”
“You like country?” He sounded offended to even have to say the word. Well, Mr. Asshole, let’s see how you like listening to nothing but country the rest of this trip.
“Country music will give you a song for every mood. All you have to do is listen. It tells a story in a way most other music can’t. The lyrics are honest and raw. Yeah, there are some whiny ones, but the bulk of it is beautiful.”
“Where did my Becca go, and who are you?”
She flipped him off. “Don’t be a music racist.”
“Then act like a grownup and listen to decent music.”
“Shut the hell up and pay attention the road.” His thumb inched toward the channel changer on the steering wheel. “Try it, and you’ll be missing a thumb.”
“Can I at least turn it down?”
“Sure, but not so low I can’t hear it.”
Dimitri bit back his smile. He loved riling Becca up. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Seeing her like this in person was hands down better than laughing at her over the phone or her silly text messages.
“You do realize once we finally get to the hotel, we aren’t getting any sleep?”
“Why’s that?” His mind went to her in the shower, soap running down her shoulders, over her nice, firm ass, down her legs. Her head thrown back, relaxing after a long drive, the heat driving the tension from her muscles. He could make them tense up in a whole different way.
“You’ll be signing a hundred and sixty pre-orders.”
His fantasy screeched to a grinding halt. “What the fuck?”
“It’s why I scheduled to you to arrive a day early. So you’d have time to put together the swag bags, sign all your shit, and then set up your pre-orders. Signings aren’t all rainbows and unicorns, D. They’re a lot of work.”
“And you thought I was gonna do all that by myself?” His brow furrowed in consternation. No way in hell could he have gotten all that done.
“It’s for your fans. So, yeah, I know you would have done all that by yourself. Besides, I figured you’d have your flavor of the week with you and they would have helped out.”
“Nobody touches my shit but you, Becca. You know this. I wouldn’t have let anyone else near it.” He would have done it all and been grouchy as fuck the next day. “What did you order, anyway, and where is it? I didn’t get anything from UPS.”
“I had it all sent to the hotel to be held until you got there. I ordered some keychains, dog tags, charm bracelets, tons of paper swag, totes, and a gift basket I put together at home and mailed out to the hotel myself for the giveaway you donated to.”
“What giveaway?”
“You really didn’t read any of those emails, did you?”
He shrugged, unrepentant. His frustration with his physical therapy had been the only thing he’d focused on for months. He’d even missed his deadline twice for the new novel. Hard to focus on writing a happily-ever-after when he was depressed and angry all the damn time.
“I meant it when I said there was a good chunk of ticket sales from your fans coming to meet you. It says a lot when you have a hundred and sixty people pre-order your books to make sure they get a copy. They’re stoked to see you. Have you looked at your author page or checked out the event group page on Facebook?”
No, he hadn’t. The event had slipped his mind altogether until that reminder in Outlook had shocked the hell out of him and he panicked. He knew his books were popular, but most of his money came from the stock he’d invested in Nikoli’s gaming company. It allowed him to write and not to worry about running out of money. He’d worked damn hard on his success as an author, but he never really paid attention to the actual numbers. His accountant probably did, but knowing that many people wanted his books and were willing to come stand in line to see him? It floored him. Almost as much as seeing Becca’s ass this morning. Almost.
“If all they wanted to was to get a photo with you, they wouldn’t have spent their money on a signed copy of your books. They’d just stop by the table and ask for a photo. Do